


Oh, Ice

by Athanasa



Series: Turncoat [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Career Ending Injuries, Gen, M/M, POV Second Person, Permanent Injury, Serious Injuries, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 21:17:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15804741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athanasa/pseuds/Athanasa
Summary: Not my best work, it suffers from trying to fit too much in too little. Chapter two for combat.In which Trachius realizes that he has no idea how Ice Soldiers even work - except that they apparently don't need their limbs to survive and suffer no blood loss when they are removed. The same cannot be said for Trachius and ███.





	1. Before the Storm

Approaching the Elezen officer (who is in the middle of yelling obscenities about someone’s grandmother over a ‘pearl, clutching a report), you tap two fingers to the side of your tinted goggles in an abbreviated salute. To your side, Talios dips his head slightly, although wearing a hood _and_ his pronged visor makes him look a damn sight more sinister than yourself. 

The response is expected, an irritably barked, “What?!” You haven’t got a snowball’s chance in hell of making yourself heard over the blizzard without invading the officer’s personal space. Instead, you gesture to the report in the Elezen’s grip and tilt your head in query, grimacing behind your mask as a particularly large snowflake finds its way down your ear. 

Behind the officer’s faceplate, arctic blue eyes narrow slightly, studying you and Talios, before moving behind a tent in the lee of the storm and gesturing for you both to follow. Neither of you need telling twice, and you’d rather _not_ have snowdrifts in your ears. 

“You’re that two-man team of mercenaries who have been around almost a moon, right?” Short, blunt, to the point. Anger is clear under the officer’s tone, and in what little of his face is visible under the faceplate and chain coif. “You heard about the incident I guess?” 

You glance to Talios, catching his eye. Or you assume so – neither can see the others’ eyes under your goggles and his visor, but you _know_ you’ve caught his eyes. You both share silent communication for a moment, before both looking back to the officer once more, both nodding firmly. “Aye.” You rasp, barely above a whisper as always, but at least _hopefully_ audible now sheltered from the worst of the blizzard. 

“Aye.” Unlike you, Talios’ voice is perfectly audible. A small smile under your scarf, and you take a couple of steps back, gesturing to Talios with a twitch of your head that he’s to take over the talking. You’re not going to be heard against the sound of the blizzard whipping the tent and howling over the battlements. 

The officer takes his time to very obviously appraise you both, looking from your various eyepieces down to your boots, and the armour and coats worn… as well as the firearms on your backs. He at least doesn’t give a snort of disgust. “Alright. Here’s the catch. I lost my eldest man in that. Got hit by something. The two fucking blueboys I was given a couple weeks ago barely managed to escape and are too terrified from whatever shadow KO'ed Edwin to return there. And given that those fuckers with their ass in an office don’t want to give me a patrol, I'm cut short from hands to go check whatever the seven hells happened at the Anvil.” 

“In short, then, you would have someone scout it out, find out what, or even who, caused the literal clusterfuck, and deal with it. Yes?” Talios’ voice is strong, steel ringing true under it. You grin under your mask – you’re both better with a job to do. You turn slightly to watch his back, keeping an eye on the main courtyard. Talios – Cross – can handle talking better than you. 

“Exactly, lad.” The officer nods, crushing the report into a ball, before tossing it over one shoulder. Clearly, someone gives zero shits for paperwork. This earns a smirk from you, not that anyone can see it. “Get there, find whatever it is. You down it, I give you a bonus. You can't, you give me a fucking report of whatever is it, so I bring the big guns. Clear? Standard pay for a day, 25% bonus if you're engaged. You down it, we up the bonus to 75%. Deal with it before the next morning and I throw in an extra weeks worth... of food, supplies and whatever ammo I can request that fits your guns. Those are the terms. Any questions?” 

“How long of a head start does it have, roughly?” An astute question from Talios. 

“What?” 

Talios quickly rephrases for clarity, “Allow me to rephrase. How long has it been since initial contact?” You raise a hand briefly to indicate that you have a question and get Talios’ attention, before moving your hand across your front in a raking motion, fingers held like claws. You then hold up your hands, moving them closer then further away, tilting your head in query. Talios catches on instantly; “Size of wounds as well. Shape. Claws, weapons. Anything that helps.” You nod once towards Talios. You feel a genuine, heartfelt surge of gratitude to the lad. 

The officer’s answer is thorough, “Five bells. That’s what my two blueboys are telling me, but they’re about as efficient as using my grand-mother piss to forecast weather. So I'd say more _around_ that number. Edwin got clubbed. Fucking big stick, his helmet caved in, head trauma. From the size of it, I expect something like an ogre or a yeti. Sometimes, those shits get through the bridge.” 

Cross (Talios) tilts his head towards you, tilting it ever so slightly in silent query. Yes or no? Do we take this job? You nod slowly. Whatever it is, it appears to use weapons, or some sort of blunt attack, anyway. That suggests humanoid. Humanoid is something you’re both trained to deal with. At least it isn’t some sort of bizarre local wildlife with too many limbs. You shrug, before flashing the hand-signs for _Recon, Withdraw?_

The officer fills in the pause, “I'm not asking you to fight it. I'm asking you to make sure of whatever it is. If you can take it down, do it. If you can't, report back here.” 

Talios mulls this over, before nodding once and turning his visored face back to the other Elezen. “Recon is always primary. Worst case, we have to pull back, nothing more to it.” You nod in agreement to Talios – no sense taking unnecessary risks out there. Not in a blizzard. 

“Good. Any other questions?” It seems the officer is getting impatient. 

“Not off the top of my head…” Talios glances towards you – any more translation needed? 

Bless this lanky lad. (Although, being Elezen, he’s likely a similar age to you – if not older – in actual years.) You move close enough to be in earshot of Cross – neither of you have any real sense of personal space when it comes to squad, or perhaps it’s just with each other. If you had to move this close to the officer to be heard, that would be problematic. “Friendly locations? Fall-back points?” You… stand on tiptoe a little just to get closer to Talios’ ear in this wind. 

The translation from barely audible rasp to Talios’ voice is almost instant; “Closest friendly forces, fall-back points.” _Thank you, Cross._

“The Pike. Can’t miss it, it’s that huge statue to the east of the Anvil. I’ve got another party there, but I need them to make sure nothing can get through the falls.” 

Talios nods once. You’re both keeping a mental note of that – it could be the difference between life and death if things go to shit, after all. You wrinkle your nose a little behind your scarf, “Flare, retreat there. If botch,” your tone carries that you’re mulling this over as a potential outcome. Medical personnel always appreciate a bit of a warning before casualties are dumped in their laps after all. 

“Not a bad call, still got a single shot…” Talios’ voice suggests he doesn’t want it to come down to that. _Neither_ of you want that. While it lets allies know, it’s also a giant _People here_ target for anything curious nearby. 

The officer, meanwhile, crosses his arms and watches you discuss. His posture is one of irritation at this point. _Get on with it._ You’re not blind to that – an officer that’s had enough of this shit. You nod once, taking a few steps back towards the courtyard and out towards the snowy wasteland of Coerthas. 

“If things go south, we’ll send up a flare. Else, we’ll be back as soon as we know more.” With that organised, Talios turns to follow you. 

“Fury be with you,” is the only comment from the officer as you leave. 

A few steps outside the Nest, Talios has this gem to pass on; “Usual rules apply.” _Right. No heroics._


	2. Ice

The Anvil is deserted, devoid of life. You’ve set your ‘pearl to open transmission to Cross to keep your hands free for anything that needs doing. The blizzard has obscured all traces of the previous scouts in the snow, as well as any obvious signs of a scuffle. Assuming your enemy is Spoken, or at least near Spoken, you return to Imperial infantry rifleman tactics – as best you can with a team of two, anyway. One moving, one covering, leapfrogging your way forward. As you get closer, you both press yourselves to the cliff face – another angle you need not watch.

Something makes itself known as you get closer. A muffled _thomp_ of a footfall of something large, crunching powder snow under foot. The footsteps _thomp_ away from the edge, fading slightly into the howling winds.

You both freeze, you yourself letting out a slight, soft hiss under your breath – rendered inaudible by the blizzard. Something big, and above. The height difference puts you at a disadvantage, theoretically. However, the cliff-face does provide some measure of cover in blocking vision, providing defilade to retreat in. Neither needs to look to the other to know that similar thoughts are going through both your heads.

“See any other ways up?”

“If I could see around corners, perhaps…”

You hiss once more, frustrated at the entire situation – not Cross’ response. Carefully, you move further up the cliff side, keeping your eyes on the anvil. Just in case there are more problems there too. Once you’re set and in position, ███ moves ahead of you, to the final area of this cliff before a second ‘tier’ of cliff and a corner. You grumble to yourself, “Don’t like above…” Again, your voice is too quiet to carry up the cliff, although Cross can almost certainly hear it over the ‘pearl. Carefully, you pick your way past the Elezen.

Just around the corner is a bush. Or, what was a bush, but has clearly been stepped on. There are also some footprints – about the size to be expected from an ogre. The bush is covered in snow, indicating that it’s been some time since this bush was stepped on for the snow to settle. “Big,” you mutter, “Footsteps, but snow on the bush.” And yet you heard the footsteps above. “Remaining here. Why?” You frown; you don’t like this one bit. Whatever it is, it was here… five hours ago, by the scouts reports. It’s walked up along the cliff since. It’s somehow climbed to the top of the cliff. It’s not moving away, it’s staying by the Anvil. Why?

Behind you, ███ takes a slow, steady breath and briefly shoots a glance at the prints. “Something is off. Switch. Want a better look.” You nod, wordlessly swapping positions with the Elezen, taking the rear-guard position and keeping watch on the surrounding area. “Rounded. And flat. No claws.” The Elezen’s tone suggests he does not like what he’s seeing.

“Natural snowshoes?” You shake your head even as you ask that. It’s probably the case around here. Either way, with that size, it’s going to be unaffected by snow that will slow you two down. So – avoid snow drifts.

“Possible… can’t be sure.”

You grimace, before moving up past ███ to the second tier of cliff face. “Big. Not a fan.”

███ moves up to the wall behind you, eyeing the tracks closely as he moves, before returning to guarding the rear.

You both eyed the footprints as you moved, and you yourself struggle to make anything out of them. Perfectly round and flat, without claws… even weight distribution. What on earth is this? You lack the local knowledge to make head or tail of this. It’s cold, the cliff-face is funnelling wind onto both of you, and visibility is poor. It’s not going great, but at least for now it isn’t going badly either.

 _Thomp._ Close. You both freeze, pressing yourselves into the cold cliff face. _Thomp._ A cascade of snow falls from the cliff above onto your head and shoulders. You bite back another hiss of frustration, shaking your head to dump the snow from your hair and reaching up to twitch the excess from your scarf. Let’s not have that melting down your neck. Once that’s cleared, you crane your head to look up at the top of the cliff.

 _Thomp. Thomp. Thomp._ Each one closer to the cliff edge than the last. A vaguely humanoid shape appears, silhouetted against the cloud heavy sky. But it’s pale, a similar colour, and only vaguely humanoid. The torso is far too big, the arms too thick, the head is… round, featureless, except for two arctic blue eyes. Looking down?

If it were possible, you’d both be burrowing into the cliff face about now. It’s close. Far too close. You peer at your surroundings.. no more cover to the right, just cliff. And with that size, maybe it could jump down over there? You don’t want to risk it. Hopefully, the wind is loud enough to hide your whisper – a genuine whisper, your normal volume – over the ‘pearl. “Large. Humanoid. Direct above. Little cover further up.” You grimace, trying to work out what the hell to do. Common sense says withdraw. Retreat. Maybe lure it, rather than going towards it. After all, the area is deserted enough – you shouldn’t have to worry about wildlife joining in. “Retreat? Shoot to lure? Bad position to advance.”

███ shifts carefully… Luckily, you’re watching him for his response. Garlean hand signals; _Retreat. Viewpoint change._

 _Thomp_. That’s the last warning either of you get before whatever’s up there above you just… steps off the ledge. Its giant, about three to three and a half meters high, and wider than two male Roegadyn side by side. The landing throws up the snow accumulated across the creature’s shoulders. You don’t recognise it, but it’s an Ice Soldier, a construct of ice. For now, those glowing ice-blue points that are probably eyes face away from both of you, out across Coerthas.

What. You have no idea what this is, absolutely zero clue. As one that isn’t a native to Eorzea, constructs and the like are still new to you. They probably exist in the myths of home, but let it never be said that the Garleans aren’t good at dealing with such creatures in the provinces. All you can do is blink and stare and try to work out how to come out alive. It’s nearing twice your height and Ice knows how many times your weight.

Carefully, you move to your right. _Away from ███._ If it swings those arms like tree trunks, having both of you hit at once is the end. Better only one of you is hit by that than both. You raise your rifle, four shots in the cylinder, and train it on the creature’s head. Close range, less than five yalms away. You’re not missing – bracing your left arm under the barrel – and prepare to fire the moment it makes an aggressive move. _I’ve got your back, Cross._

███ freezes, pressing himself back further into the wall, somehow finding a corner to shrink into that he hasn’t found already… and waits. Hopefully, your own movements will have distracted the creature, allowing the Elezen time to escape once its attention is on you.

Unbeknownst to you, ice golems do not follow the normal humanoid logic of joints. They are simply pivot or rotational points, unhindered by things like shoulder blades or spines to prevent a full range of movement. To your horror, its head simply snaps around to look over its back. _Was that even its back in the first place?_

███ is the first to react, drawing his single shot flare gun from his belt with one hand and – being the closest to the golem’s landing spot – he levels it and fires at the thing’s head. Unfortunately, while this does hit the construct’s head, it doesn’t actually do anything. It simply… sits there, embedded. Perhaps an issue with the range for activation?

Game face on. It’s barely a conscious act of will at this point, as you feel emotion drain from your face. You move to your right, further away from ███ – _follow me, not him_ – in measured steps, rifle held at the ready. You pull the trigger. The whistling winds of the blizzard are ripped apart by the rifle's roar. Three shots to reload. It debatably does more damage than Cross’ shot, ripping out a chunk of what would be jaw if the creature had a jaw. Which it doesn’t. Which means it doesn’t eat, which means it likely doesn’t have a digestive system, or lungs. Centre of mass shots won’t work like they would for something conventionally alive.

It rotates its shoulders (do they count as shoulders if they’re literally pivoting joints?) above its ‘head’, then smashes its fists down behind itself. A flurry of snow erupts behind the monster. Although, given its arms and head are now on that side, does that make it in front of itself? The icy head, minus a chunk and with a flare embedded in it, turns towards you. The icy blue glowing points fix on you. _Good. Not on ███._

You skitter further away from your comrade up the hill and into the open area, weapon still raised and training on the golem’s head. In the open? Sure. If you get hit by one of those arms pinned by the cliff, that’s broken ribs front and back. At best. If you get hit out here, it’s at least a landing into snow – after being thrown a few yalms, putting extra distance between you and the creature. You fire again for the ‘head’. It… does almost nothing, your angle’s wrong. There’s a small puff of ice as the bullet cracks into the thing’s head, leaving a small gouge, as it deflects off somewhere into the snowfields. Two shots left in the cylinder.

The arms are still on the ground, doing… something. You can’t tell what. The top parts of the creature – which you can see – straighten slightly. Hidden from your sight on the other side of the construct (especially with the snow screen raised by the impact of the golem’s arms), you hear a rifle shot crack through the silence. Cross, back to his main weapon once more.

You squint behind your goggles at the icy construct, trying to work out exactly what is happening amid the snowscreen. Your eyes go wide as the golem straightens all the way – jerking from ███’ shot slightly – and a slab of ice flies out of the snow at you.

Throwing yourself to your left – _not right and over the cliff, thank you_ – you do your best to get out of the way, tucking your left arm up to your chest. It’s still delicate from a recent break and you know it, the medic’s warning about what would happen if you broke it again any time soon – screws ripping out of bone and going wandering in your flesh, almost certainly resulting in nerve damage and amputation – ring stark in your mind. Let’s not lose a limb today.

It’s not enough, the slab clipping your right side as you go – not your rifle arm, thankfully, but you’re going to have some spectacular rainbow bruising down that side tomorrow, _at least_. The world spins, air blasted from your lungs in a surprised cough as you fly with the slab for some distance, before rolling to a stop in the snow and a helpful bush. Disorientated by your impromptu flight, winded enough that you briefly can’t draw breath, and blinded by the swirling snow, you lie there. You blink repeatedly behind your goggles, not that it clears the snow around you or helps in any way, trying to work out how damaged you are by that. You can’t tell, but adrenaline is one hell of a drug.

Somewhere in the distance of your daze, you hear another shot. _Good work, Cross._ Followed by… violent movements of the monster in the snowy murk, then a crash – sound muted by the soft snow.

“Cross?” you call over your open transmission link on the ‘pearl. You shake your head, forcibly refocusing yourself on the world as the snow settles once more, revealing the golem… minus an arm. _You can shoot the limbs off?_ And it doesn’t even bleed. What even _is_ this thing? What the Ice is wrong with Eorzea?! There’s no response from ███, not even a burst of static to indicate he’s activated his ‘pearl but isn’t talking. Worry – concern, _fear_ – floods you at that. _Keep focused, that won’t help him now if he’s down._ ** _If_** _he’s down._ Which target to choose, two shots left before reload. An arm, to try to prevent more flailing, or a leg? If you get a leg, it might just… tumble off the cliff, or at least be unable to pursue. From your awkward prone position, you fire at a leg.

Unfortunately, while the legs make good targets – being as wide as your own torso, and you’re a stocky fellow – they are also large. Your shot simply makes a hole. Unperturbed, the golem turns to you, and begins to advance, one lumbering step after another. Slow, inexorable. The remaining arm of the thing – the left (although equally the right if it should decide to rotate its head again) – morphs, gaining spikes of ice. _What in Ice even is this thing?_ Well, for a start, Trachius, it actually _is_ Ice.

Down to one round, and the thing is advancing? Still struggling for breath against an extremely unhappy diaphragm – nobody likes taking a blow to the ribs – you drag yourself to your feet on the oh so helpful bush. Stumbling at first, you work to put distance between yourself and the golem, reloading your weapon with slightly shaking fingers (thank you, adrenaline) as you go. Fear for yourself, however, is not allowed in your current state of mind. You have an objective – that objective is to get Cross out alive. You’ve fulfilled the earlier objective of _find what caused trouble at the Anvil_. Now you need to both get out alive. “Cross!” It’s the closest you can get to a yell, concern evident in your voice even through your emotionless haze. There’s still no response.

The Ice Soldier continues to advance on you, bringing the icicle studded fist in front of itself and _flicking_ the limb, releasing a hail of ice spikes of various lengths and lethality towards you.

This is not what you had been expecting at all. Not that you know what to expect from this ice monster anyway, but a _ranged attack_ was not something you had foreseen, and here you are, out in the open with no cover. Still slightly unsteady from that earlier blow, you don’t have a hope in hell of getting out of the way of this. Not at point blank range. _So, this is how it feels._ Except unlike the golem, you are flesh and bone. You can’t just shrug off catastrophic damage.

And catastrophic injury is what’s coming your way. Amid the hail of icicles, a particularly large spike; it's about a fulm in length, rapidly tapering in a wedge from a sharp point. This one finds your chest, left side, fairly low between the ribs. The pressure of it blasts the breath from your lungs, but it doesn’t stop. Through your layered leather armour, pushing that in with it as well… still not stopping, even as the tapering length forces the ribs apart, _breaks them_ , and continues into your chest cavity. Into your lung. You don’t even notice the other icicles impacting off your armour, slicing all available bare or lightly armoured skin.

Somehow, you retain some semblance of focus through this, even as you stare up at the sky, blood streaming down your face from numerous cuts (at least the goggles keep your vision clear), chest spasming as you try to draw breath. Winded, again. And worse. Your mind almost _splits_ at this point, shoving emotion away, nothing except the will to survive and pure, cold assessment of the situation. That’s a fatal wound if not treated. You shouldn’t remove something impaling a wound like that, else you risk catastrophic blood loss. Equally, it will melt from your own body heat if you leave it in, with the same result anyway. However, moving it could cause more damage – plus potential loss of consciousness, something you’re barely clinging to right now. You’ll leave it in. You’ve still not heard from ███. He’s likely down as well. Both down. _Stay awake, soldier. Decurion. Keep your squad alive, whatever it takes. Keep. Him. Alive. Focus. Fight._

There’s nothing in your world now – darkness creeping at the edges of your vision, _no, not yet, keep going_ – except the golem, you, and your rifle. It’s at least close now. Your hand it somehow steady as you raise the weapon, focus crystal clear on its head as you pull the trigger. _Did it always have that much recoil?_

The golem continues to advance on you, as you lie propped on one side in the snow, red slowly seeping into the pale grey of your leather armour around the wound. _Of course, most of the bleeding is internal, inside your chest_. The entire upper side of the monster’s ‘face’ crumbles off as the bullet rips through it, clipping the earlier embedded flare… which detonates, removing the rest of the head in a bright explosion. It blinds you, throwing more shards of ice your way, but frankly the impacts don’t even register – they’re drops in the ocean compared to your current state. At least the golem seems as blind as you are, simply… standing there. But it isn’t falling.

At least your legs are still intact, even if your ability to focus and function is rapidly diminishing. Still, adrenaline is one hell of a drug (but you could really do without the increased heartrate right now), and the animal will to survive is strong. You scoot yourself back through the snow as best you can, scrambling on all fours. The icicle is wedged in well and truly, not falling out as you go. And it’s oh so cold, but simultaneously burns as it freezes within you. That isn’t good, that can’t be good, how is it so cold? It’s frozen to you, a small mercy at this point.

Your ‘pearl to Cross is still in open transmission mode, as your scuttling takes you to what you hope is out of the golem’s range, before strength fails you. Grimacing, you flop onto your side once more – do _not_ flop onto that icicle – and raise an arm to your ear. Since when were your arms so heavy? At least you have your breathing under control now. Enough to make the call to backup. A pearl you’d been given, with instructions to only use it if absolutely necessary. You hope to any deity that may be listening that the medic is listening at the other end, or at least close by to Mist… and that they’re both awake. You try to block out how weak your voice is, or that you can barely draw enough breath for each word. “Pale?” _Please be listening. For ███._ “Coerthas. Anvil.” Location. You don’t have enough breath for situation – they’ll be able to tell it’s bad, and to expect chest injuries from your voice. You squeeze your eyes shut, _breathe_. “Hurry.” _Please, please hurry for Cross._ _I’m already gone. Get Cross._

A part of your mind _screams_ in horror as the golem resumes moving, but that part isn’t allowed to access the world right now. You just observe. _I’m already gone._ It’s somehow still tracking you, stooping low to sweep its single remaining arm in front of itself – it doesn’t need to pinpoint your location if it attacks _everything_ in front of itself.

 _Already gone. Get ███. Get Cross._ You just want to curl up, go to sleep, or maybe roll down the hill towards where you know ███ is… but you can’t, you need to stay here, with the golem. Keep it away from Cross. One death, not two. _Hypothermic already? Blood loss? FOCUS, SOLDIER! Don’t you DARE die like this, MOVE!_ Hearing your own voice – before Carteneau stole it from you – in your head, _commanding_ you to act. So you do, further away from ███, dragging yourself through the snow.

The pearl buzzes in your ear, “Inbound. Hold out.” Pale’s voice? You haven’t heard it in nearing a decade, but you recognise is. No anger, no concern, no _nothing_. Medic tone. Good, good. Coming for ███. You’ll hold out as long as you can. For your brother in arms. The world is dark around you now, little bright motes floating in your vision. _Bad. Almost out now. Cling on._

Knowing that help is coming gives you a burst of strength, a last gasp effort, you haul yourself further from the Elezen. _Don’t die yet. Keep going._ It’s so cold, everything is so, so heavy. You don’t have the breath to respond, you don’t have the energy to lift a hand to your ear to activate the ‘pearl, you barely have enough to _move_ , but you do it anyway.

Still, you’re no longer really moving much faster than the golem. It’s closing the distance, but at least that means further from ███. And that’s what matters, you’ve accepted you’re a dead man crawling. Glancing down, the icicle seems shorter now… no, it’s melting and sinking further in as it melts. That explains why you’re so cold. A left chest cavity full of elementally charged ice water and your own blood. It’s so, _so_ cold. And quiet, silent… the snow cradles you like a feather blanket, it’s soft. You’ve done what you can; help is coming. You deserve a rest. Darkness folds in, soothing and welcoming.


End file.
